Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. I have the movie though!

Beta'd by Fjord_Mustang


The first problem of course was materials. Metal would be best, he was certain of that. Unfortunately the middle of the woods wasn't the best place to find a bunch of metal nobody was using, not to mention being probably outside his experience level and ability. He frowned, looking over the sketches of the fin. Metal would be best, yeah, but if he could make it from something else… Really all he needed to do was to prove it was possible… If his construction worked for even one flight, then maybe, maybe people might see that it could be done. Metal would last the longest, be the most sturdy, but wishing for the ability to make something like this from scratch out of the materials he was picturing, he snorted to himself. Why not simply wish for it to be carefully machined in a specialty shop out of fiberglass and titanium composite while he was at it? If wishes were fishes, we'd walk on the sea as his grandmother said.

He turned his attention to the saddle next, frowning in concentration. It actually reminded him of some of the pictures he'd seen in the horseback riding brochures his Mom had. Not a big clunky saddle like you always saw in the old Western movies, this was barely more than a pad. Way less wind resistance, and probably a lot lighter. He leaned back in his seat as the bus rattled its way back to camp, rubbing his pen against his mouth, tapping occasionally. How hard was it to make a saddle, or conversely, how much did they cost?

Then there was the whole mechanism between the two. It seemed, more or less, like a pulley system. Move this therefore this moves therefore ropes get adjusted to the fin controlling how far it opened or shut. He toyed with the idea of having it modernized, cable wires like on a bike's brake system, small movements to control things, but he knew that just following what he had here on the pages of his journal would be pushing his skills, let alone modifying it. And he was far more likely to be able to find rope than anything else.

He got off the bus, still pouring over the scribbles, not really paying attention to where he was going. He still wasn't paying much attention other than avoiding running into anything until he heard "Hey!"

His head popped up, confused at the shout. He looked around and realized he'd wandered into the maintenance area behind the ranger station. There were several vehicles, mostly rather battered, sad looking jeeps and various tools leaning against the walls of several sheds within the fenced area. He hadn't even noticed entering the gate to the area. He had a hand on the doorknob in front of him, apparently mistaking it for an entrance to the station itself. Looking up he saw a large barn-like building.

"What do you think you're doing?" An older woman in a park service uniform was walking over to where he stood.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry ma'am." Mike said, removing his hand. "I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going. Just operating on autopilot." He added, smiling at her sheepishly.

The stern look on the woman's face faded a bit. "Just as well I caught you. That's just a bunch of storage. Nothing interesting in there but tetanus." She matter-of-factly shooed him out the gate.

"Why would you have," he looked over his shoulder to take in the size of the building, "such a big building for storage?"

She smiled, he caught sight of her name tag which said "Grace", and replied, "It's mostly junk. Stuff that's too broke to work, but not too broken to use for parts. Probably should sort through it someday and have a junkman haul a load of it off." Grace shook her head. "I swear I spend more time chasing the guys that work here out of there than I do my own job." She pulled shut the gate, which was a simple chain link fence with green plastic woven through to block people from seeing in. There wasn't any lock on it that Mike could see, just a latch. It seemed to mostly count on the "Authorized Personnel Only" sign to discourage anybody.

"Why would you keep stuff for parts?" Mike asked, confused. "Isn't this a National park, don't you get money to operate?" He followed the woman back to the actual entrance to the station.

She grimaced and made a rude noise. "Parks and Recreation is always the first to get cut from the budget and the last added back in. And even when the politicians do allocate money, it's usually a way to get funds to various cronies. It the parks see one dollar out of a thousand earmarked for us we're surprised. So we stock up when we have money, to be able to wait out the lean time." She smiled at him. "So as you can see, the fees families like yours pay to stay here really helps keep this park running."

Mike nodded happily as Grace waved at him and walked off. He walked in the opposite direction and glanced back to make sure she saw him walking away. He made a quick stop at his cabin to drop off his bag and check and see if his parents were back. Seeing that they weren't he went back out. Mike went back to the fenced area, keeping enough distance that he didn't think anybody would notice he was watching, but close enough he could see if anybody went in or out.

It took a while, as people were coming and going at all times, but he was pretty sure that everybody had left. It would be bad to be caught sneaking in. At best they'd probably keep him somewhere until his parents got back and then they'd keep a closer eye on him for the rest of vacation and he'd never get to sneak away to see Toothless again. At worst, the police could be called, his mother would have hysterics, Ashley would kill him for ruining the vacation, and he'd still never get to see Toothless again. Going close to the fence he walked by as though he was simply going past before veering over to the gate. It was a simple lift latch, like on any backyard fence, and he lifted it quickly, pulling the gate just open enough he could squeeze through and shut it again quickly. He waited, listening to see if anybody saw him and was coming to yell at him. …Nothing.

Moving away from the gate he looked quickly around the service area. There were several sheds with riding mowers and other gardening things around, or another that had tables and folding chairs stacked within it.

The building with the junk in it actually had two doors in it. One normal sized door, another to the side that was a garage type door. It wasn't actually a barn as he'd first thought. It was one of the buildings that had been popular in the fifties, and on military bases for quick storage. Quonset huts? He was pretty sure that was what they were called. A long half circle tube with flat ends. He turned the handle on the smaller door and went in.

It fortunately wasn't completely dark inside. There were windows set at either end that let light in, but with the sheer piles of stuff everywhere, almost everything was covered in shadows. It looked like some of the stacks were leaning against each other. There was one pile of dented and broken folding chairs that looked like it would all come tumbling down if Mike breathed on it. Right on the other side of the garage door was the remains of a jeep. It was on blocks. The right side front door was gone as was the windshield. The scattering of nuts and bolts showed that several things from under the hood had been removed. Obviously it was one of the junked items they were slowly scavenging for parts.

Mike carefully walked down the "aisles", glad he was skinny. Tetanus jungle came to mind as he looked around. Firetrap also applied. He could easily see that everybody who entered the building probably would say "Y'know we really need to straighten this place up some time." And then there was never enough time to even be worth making a dent in the chaos. Mike realized that if there was an avalanche of junk it would really need cadaver dogs to find his body buried beneath all of it.

Some of the junk made sense. The twenty or so weed whackers in various stages of disrepair for example. Others there had no good reason for existing. Maybe they had a fundraiser, or planned one with donation at one point? That was the only reason he could come up with for the framed moth-eaten velvet picture of a kitten. Mike was sure it was meant to be cute, but either the artist's lack of ability or the fact that it had been left to rot in this barn of a building made the kitten look like it was suffering from rabies. Or why the box of mismatched chipped dishware? The stack of green painted sawhorses/barricades made sense, or the broken pair of garden shears (and how did one handle get bent so far out of whack?), but the box of records didn't. Old displays from the ranger station were scattered around, some leaning against walls, others against piles. Mike assumed the grouping of taxidermied animals with creepy glass eyes that were piled on top of a giant spool generally used for wire went with one of the displays. Somebody had moved several so they were positioned in slightly obscene ways. He assumed that was from one of the guys Grace mentioned chasing out of here.

He began to feel discouraged. This really was just junk. Lots of it. He poked through some stuff leaning against a wall and felt a bit more hopeful when he ran across some stakes. Some bamboo ones were mixed in with other plain cheap wood ones. After checking them he found they looked good, no splits or other damage. He could picture them being used for the spines of the fin. He knew bamboo was strong and flexible, it should work well, if not look that great. No they weren't fireproof, but as he tried to keep in mind, he just needed something that would work for a while, not forever. He began to separate several from the pile without having the whole bunch start to slide down and clatter to the ground.

He'd just finished that and was trying to figure out where to put them, and more importantly how to get them out of here unnoticed, when he turned around and saw it. It being a saddle tossed in a corner. Leaning the stakes he'd pulled out back against the wall he went over. Running his hands over the leather. It was in pretty bad shape, dry and cracked, it felt awful. One strap was half missing, he couldn't tell if it was torn or cut, and he was rather worried about what the stains on the other were. But it was a mostly whole saddle, effectively for free. Given that it was just thrown on the floor it was doubtful that anybody would miss it. It was even a simple one, more of a flat pad than anything. It was perfect.

And like with the stakes getting away with it was another story. He picked up the saddle, it was big enough to be difficult to juggle, but not impossible. This would be very hard to explain if he was caught with it. While he didn't think that anybody would really care that he was taking a battered, broken saddle, it would show that he'd snuck into this building. While he'd been losing hope, this find made him think there might be more to find in the mysterious piles of stuff in here. He didn't want the park service people deciding they needed to put locks on the door, or the fence. After all he'd only seached through maybe a quarter of it, who knew what else was here? He made it over to the door, juggling the saddle without smacking into anything and causing a cascade. He carefully cracked the door open and looked around. There wasn't anyone in the service area yet. He shifted the saddle in his arms again, it was impossible to carry neatly. The stiff, dry conditions of the straps meant they stuck out awkwardly in different directions, flopping around when he moved. Creeping over to the fence he picked at the plastic strips woven in it to try and see if anybody was near. A man and woman walked by, but neither was dressed in any of the park service uniforms he'd seen so far, and given their conversation he could tell they were just tourists. Once they were out of sight he slipped out of the gate, heading away from the populated areas with his prize. He circled around to his family's cabin, happy to see they weren't back yet.

He knew he couldn't leave it at the cabin, there just wasn't room to hide it anywhere. Looking at it in good light made it look even more pathetic. The whole surface was cracked and dry, the straps, or what remained of them, were more or less frozen in position. Every bit of metal was rusted or dull. Mike chewed on his lips wondering if it was even worth it to try and fix it.

First though he needed to find someplace to hide it. The cabin was empty of any nice secluded closets, attics, or convenient crawl spaces. A quick look at the clock told him he needed to get his rear in gear. Thinking quickly he decided that the woods were the only place he might be able to hide the thing. Shortly thereafter he found the emergency rain ponchos his mother tucked into at least one suitcase no matter where they went. He was certain that if they went to Death Valley in August she'd still tuck them away somewhere. She claimed that having them prevented them from getting rained on. While as damaged as the saddle was it was hard to imagine it getting any worse, he still wrapped it carefully in the dark green plastic of either his dad's or his brother's poncho. He then tucked it under his arm and headed towards the woods.

It was even more nerve wracking in the daylight. He was sure somebody would notice him, a kid, heading off into the trees and yell at him. This time he kept a better watch of where he was going, both so he could find the saddle again wherever he placed it, and so he could find his way back out. He actually came across a point where some rocks poked out of the earth, surrounded by the rest of the forest. There was even a spot among them where he could wedge the saddle that seemed fairly dry. He looked back the way he had come, he could still see the campsite, but it was far enough that nobody would likely notice the bit of dark green plastic wedged among the rocks. Also most people weren't exactly thrilled about going wandering in these woods. There actually were hiking paths, but those were mostly used by scientists trying to get to remote areas to study dragon behavior, not tourists. They were also labeled "Use at your own risk", which given the inhabitants of the park was no laughing matter.

Mike looked around after he finished hiding the saddle to see if Toothless was anywhere around. He didn't see the dragon, though. He wasn't exactly surprised, he was closer than the dragon had approached the campsite when leading him back. He still wasn't sure if not seeing Toothless meant the dragon wasn't near, or if he simply wasn't observant enough.

He returned quickly to the campsite. As he wandered about the building he began to think about the saddle. He'd need to repair it somehow. It was in pretty bad shape. Mike decided to go to the station again. Walking in he headed to the racks of glossy brochures that were along one wall. They were split up into types, some advertising other campgrounds, cabins, or RV parks in the surrounding areas; a lot advertising various activities around the park, everything from skiing to canoeing. Then there was the section on shopping. There were advertisements for everything. Antique malls, outlet malls, boutique shops, farm equipment, pretty much every store, shop, or home that sold tsotchkes within 60 miles of the park. There were several places advertising saddles and tack, but he didn't know if they made the stuff or just sold it, or if they knew how to fix it. Plus, most of them had the creative scale maps that made it seem as though they were right next to the park, even if it was a half hour drive away.

Looking through the pamphlets Mike felt his hopes shrinking. He poked and prodded through them until he found a fairly simple one, two-sided, that advertised Mitchell Family Tannery- Quality Leather Goods for 90 years. Reading it quickly he saw they sold new and used harness, tack, and specialty items. Repair was listed as well. He flipped it over and stared. Somebody up there loved him. The map showed it just outside the eastern border of the park. Yeah, probably too far to walk, but… Maybe he could get Toothless to carry him. Not while using the saddle obviously, there wouldn't be anything left of it he figured if he tried to put it on the dragon in the condition it was in. And it wasn't like he could simply ask his parents to take him and the saddle there.

That decided he checked his watch, his family should be getting back anytime now. Mike wandered through the exhibits again, before seeing that there was a ranger sitting at a table with several children standing in front of it, listening to what he was saying. Mike drifted over and saw that on the table were several things, pieces of pelts from foxes, bear and raccoon as well as claws from several creatures, skulls, and what looked like eggshell and shed skin.

"Now this," the man held up one shell fragment, "is a partial shell from a hawk's nest. And this," he held up another piece, "is one from a Terrifying Nighmare's nest. Notice how thick the dragon's is compared to the hawk's. Also notice how much flatter it seems, that's due to the larger size of one over the other."

The kids ooh'd and ah'd. One wanted to know how close the man had been to either species.

"Well, I help out with a rehabilitation group, so I come into contact with hawks, eagles, owls and falcons fairly regularly. I'm not one of the specialists who deal with the dragons. Or at least as much dealing as can be done with them, it's mostly just knowing their habits enough to be able to come within view of them. The birds on the other hand, I work with exercising them, cleaning their mews, all of the various minutia that is involved. Despite what you may have seen in the Harry Potter movies and books, caring for a raptor is not easy."

Mike managed to get close enough to see the table clearly and touch the shed scales. Not every dragon shed their skin like a lizard or snake, but some did. Others only lost a scale if it became damaged in some way. The feel of the dry, fragile scales under his fingers was like a dead echo of the feeling of warm, smooth, strong scales he had touched. He pulled his hand away, wiping it on his pants.

"Enjoying your stay?" The man asked Mike as the younger kids wandered off. Mike looked up from studying the piece of dragon shell, startled. He glanced at the man's name tag, Grant was what his name was.

Mike smiled. "I'm enjoying it. I love dragons, want to study them someday. My sister's not happy, but then I don't know if anything would make her happy."

He spent a bit chatting before heading back out. His parents were just opening the door to the cabin. He smiled at them, chattering away about his day, with selective editing, until both of his parent's eyes began to glaze and he knew that they'd begun to tune him out. That meant it was safe to be quiet and not find himself interrogated.

The next morning Mike didn't try to get up especially early, planning on sneaking off later. When his Mom brought up the place they'd decided to go to yesterday, a zip line and rock climbing place, Mike managed to avoid going again. Both Ashley and Drew rolled their eyes, both seeming to want to smack him.

"Mikey, the zip line place says it's almost like sailing on a dragon through the trees." His Mom coaxed.

"Nah, I'm really learning a lot." He replied, smiling at her concerned face. "I'm thinking about seeing what kind of volunteer programs they have for when I'm in college."

She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Let's worry about high school first, 'kay?" She shook her head and sighed. "I wished you weren't quite so enthusiastic about the dragons, but if you're learning something."

"Oh, I'm learning lots!" Mike responded, wide-eyed.

His dad shook his head, muttering about how when he was a kid his dragon phase was only a few weeks, same as Drew's. Why his youngest had to find a bunch of scaly bloodthirsty creatures so fascinating he'd never understand.

This time, certain that he'd be fine, his parents didn't hang around to make sure he got on the bus. They walked him over, his mother kissed him on the head and told him to be good, which caused Ashley to snicker as he rubbed at his forehead. Then they headed off, Ashley looking back and waving while mouthing "loser" at him.

As soon as he saw the car drive away he left the waiting area. He quickly moved towards where he'd left the saddle, keeping an eye out as there were a lot of people out and about now. It took a bit longer to get to it this time, having to wait until nobody was watching. Once he picked it up, he moved quickly to get deeper in the woods before anybody saw him.

He was hoping the dragon would be willing to come to him again, even if he didn't have fish with him. As soon as he thought he was far enough away he began to look around, still juggling the awkward saddle. He sighed as nothing moved in the trees that he could see. He knew he'd felt a connection, but… Maybe he was only interested in him because of the food-

A snort came from behind him and he yelped, spinning around to see a rather smug looking Night Fury standing behind him. He scowled at the dragon.

"Do you like seeing me screech like a girl" He demanded as the dragon purred and came closer. The Night Fury poked the bundle of saddle with his nose, sniffing it curiously. Pacing easily around the boy he then leaned in again and poked the saddle with his nose, making one of those complicated sounds of his, before sniffing deeply. Then sneezing.

Mike rolled his eyes and unwrapped the package for the dragon's inspection. He laid the battered saddle on top of the poncho and stood back.

"So, what do you think?" He asked.

It was kind of funny seeing the dragon circle the worn piece of leather, nosing parts of it gently, walking in an odd way arching his back as he moved, before turning and giving him the most penetrating, questioning stare he'd ever received from anything, human or animal.

It shook him slightly. That was not a look like you'd get from a dog or cat. That was an interrogative look. It demanded answers. "It's, um, it's a saddle. I've had these, um, dreams. And, well," he flushed at how bad he was stammering, but it felt like he was under a microscope the way the dragon was looking at him, "I think I've seen you fly. I mean it feels like that, in my dreams. After you lost your fin. Or something, it felt real anyway. And I want to see you fly again, um… Not that I'm sure I can do it, y'know, but I'll try. Assuming you can understand me, I'm giving a promise."

He picked up the saddle, re-wrapping it. He noticed that Toothless had drawn slightly away. If he could describe the dragon's expression now, it would be contemplative. Which was crazy. Everybody knew dragons were simply wild animals. Dumb beasts according to the researchers, acting under their instincts. Of course everybody also knew that Night Furies were completely reclusive and any dragon would kill a human that wasn't careful for fun, not to mention "Loki" was one of the most dangerous dragons in the park. So… Forget what "everybody" knows and start from scratch.

While he had considered asking Toothless to carry him to the store, just getting on some one seemed rude in some way. He couldn't really make sense of it in his own mind, after all he'd sort of "broken bread" with the dragon, in an absolutely nauseating way, and had even napped against him, but using him as just a beast of burden didn't feel right. Helping him get in the air, yes, using him like a horse, no. Mike eyed the dragon cautiously now. "So, there's this place east of the park where I think I can fix this, so I'm going to head there. It's called Mitchell's Family Tannery, they do repairs and stuff."

No sign of recognition, the dragon's eyes didn't even twitch in the direction he'd indicated. Mike sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Get a weird look from a dragon and next he thinks it's smart. Well, he knows the dragon is smart, he wouldn't have frustrated so many trackers otherwise, but he wasn't intelligent. Maybe.

Mike hefted the saddle and set off in the direction of the sun since it was still low enough to indicate east. Toothless got up and padded along next to him, cocking his head occasionally. Finally the dragon apparently got tired of how slow Mike was going and butted him from the side with his head.

"Whoa! What?" Mike cried, as he stumbled, the terrain they'd been walking on, while not a cliff side, was a pretty steep hill. He staggered, managing not to fall and glared at the dragon. Toothless stood there, one front leg cocked, like he was expecting Mike to climb on. It was surreal. Why would a wild creature take a position to make it easier for him to climb on? How would he know?

Mike carefully juggled the saddle as he put his left foot gingerly on Toothless' cocked left forearm. When the dragon didn't shake him off or growl, he put his weight on it and swung up and got his leg across the wide neck. It was a surprisingly comfortable spot, wide but not so much it felt like he was trying to do the splits. Then Toothless moved.

Mike had pictured something like his dreams, graceful movements, easily staying on. This, not so much. It was terrifying. Mike hunched over the bundle of the saddle, arms spread with his fingers splayed trying to hang on. His legs were clenched tightly, he'd slid back a bit so now each knee was hooked under a wing, which meant he'd moved back far enough that it was horribly uncomfortable. But comfort came second to safety, and there was nothing on this green earth that was going to make him loosen any form of grip he'd managed. Each bound and leap the Night Fury made left him certain that he was going to slide of and die. Every so often the dragon would halt for a moment, a space of time in which Mike would try to get a better grip, sniffing the air before bounding off again.

This was not in any way like his dreams. Those were smooth, easy and enjoyable. This was hard, the smooth scales left nothing to cling to, he'd considered the ridges ringing the dragon's face as a grip before remembering how sensitive they'd been when he'd petted Toothless yesterday. While he was focused on not falling to his death, his subconscious piped up and translated this nightmare of a ride to one several hundred feet in the air. If not higher. Mike began making plans, a safety harness for him. Ropes, chains, possibly a bucket full of krazy glue – anything to keep him on the saddle.

Suddenly he felt the dragon's muscles bunch underneath him, even more than when Toothless decided to leap off a small cliff (it was only about ten feet high) and glide with Mike keeping his eyes shut trying not to whimper. This time the Night Fury suddenly launched himself upwards, a powerful beat of his wings giving him more lift before thudding back to the ground, bounding a bit to deal with the extra force before stopping.

Mike managed to loosen his grip, which was more approaching an attempt to fuse with the dragon than an attempt to hold on, and dropped the saddle before hitting the ground himself. Extreme self-control was needed to avoid kissing it. He slowly got to his feet, swaying slightly. Toothless came up behind him. Despite the sheer terror of the ride it was a comfort to have the dragon beside him.

Mike stared ahead blankly. Just through the trees he could see a building. There looked to be a gravel parking lot next to it and what looked like a sign that what he could see said "Mitchell's Fami…" He immediately turned and looked straight at the dragon who was looking especially innocent. And what could he do about it? Demand to the dragon "I know you're intelligent, fess up!" Yeah, that wouldn't look strange at all.

Mike sighed and reached out and scratched Toothless beneath his chin. All questions of possible intelligence fled at the sight of a happy, purring puddle of dragon. He snickered and gave a light pat before retrieving the saddle. He began walking towards the shop before stopping. What would happen if anybody saw Toothless? But when he turned around the dragon was already gone. Silently. Mike had to shake his head, no wonder he drove the trackers so insane.

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A/N: I am so sorry on the time between the last chapter and this one. I kept getting bogged down in it horribly. And every time I got bogged down my muse would die for anywhere from a few days to a week. So, yeah. Anyways to get around my mind's stubborn refusal to write this chapter, I skipped ahead and began to work on the next chapter, or what is now two chapters ahead. So since I'm typing up the next chapter now, and already have the first draft of the next, it shouldn't be such a long wait between the next chapteres.